


Just Whisked

by meiqis



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, M/M, Yanjun centric, everyone but Zhengting has guest appearances, this is such a vague fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 04:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19143697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meiqis/pseuds/meiqis
Summary: Yanjun is just a model with an awful habit of attending a bakery, not for the goods but for the good company though. It had people question his priorities and him question himself but all throughout, if only that sweet scent of sugar lingers, maybe it isn't hard to bear.





	Just Whisked

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually a work I started months ago, some time between visiting my second brain Gems in February and getting hit by a baking influx during preparations for Easter holidays, because looking at all my recipes and spending time on that, I just couldn't help myself but imagine them in such a scene. Considerably, it has taken since then for me to finish this bit by bit with how low my motivation had been at times and even then, it's a really old school way of writing for me, keeping it vague and all. (Did I mention this is like Evening Sun?)  
> Now, I'm aware this is not the kind of fiction I promised and I still have some unfinished works which is also like me, so fingers crossed I can write more in summer? Maybe? If we ever receive more content of them, that is...

“I just don’t understand how you have the patience to do them,” Yanjun said once again from his position of leaning onto the counter, eyes carefully adjusted onto Zhengting’s hands from where they were squeezing out ganache from a piping bag to fill the previously set chocolate molds. After years of visiting this special café he had gotten used to the routine - fill the molds in the morning, bake all needed goods for the day before noon, open up for the afternoon, set the filling in the evening and close them off so they’d be finished by morning. And then it would start all over again.  
Yanjun had been around to see it happen since the beginning, ever since he had moved cities to get started on his own career, progressing from a simple scholarship student living in the dorm nearby to getting casted on the streets to this current point of time at which he was still a university student running for his master’s degree while juggling his academic timetable with his shooting times, and while he had grown into this job of his, so had this café he had only visited for a weekly small treat back then. Maybe he had been one of the first regulars to attend and he had been thus remembered by the owner but over the years, it had easily progressed from a one man show into a blooming small business, to the point he was aware that there was already a part-timer or two working, taking over the shifts in the afternoon when Zhengting was still busy in the hidden bakery part to assemble cakes that had been specifically ordered or the customer onslaught had been too much so he was just rushing from one oven to another, exchanging piping bags as he would exchange outfits during a shoot.  
“You’re putting all this work into them just for people to eat them in a few seconds,” he went on and despite his harsh words, he couldn’t help admire such dedication. With all the evenings he had stepped by, those after a particular long shoot when he needed just a small cheer up in the form of Zhengting’s smile but under the disguise of craving sweets, when he was on school holidays but traveling home to visit was still too unimaginable with how occupied he was with his jobs, he had seen most of the masterpieces that had been created in the kitchen up until now. Be it the intricate wedding cakes that were done a lot more often during summer time and had increased over the years or just the simple daily ones, the small petit fours and chocolates prepared every day, the slices of cake that would change depending on the season and what was currently trending and how the ideas never seemed to stop despite all the years this shop had been open already…  
“Because even just some seconds of joy is enough of a reward, don’t you think?” The younger finally answered when the last of the molds was filled with the light pink colored cream, the bag handed over to his guest along with a spoon before those same hands put the tray into the fridge to chill the cream a bit before it would be closed off by its last layer of chocolate, and then it all started again with a piping cream filled with a more intense yellow Yanjun was already aware would be Mango jam. Even those, the jams and creams and ganaches, they were all made by the very same man, making all these little creations deserving of all the love they received, because so much thought and dedication was put into every single piece it was making his heart ache in envy for wanting to receive as much attention from his host.  
Alas, all he could do was pick up the spoon and start eating the remains of the filling he knew would be a white chocolate base with strawberry flavor, and he was also aware that the molds would be the shape of small white hearts, each to receive a tiny writing of Love in the morning before they would be placed on the trays and displayed in the shop. He knew because not only did he know them ever since he had first visited, when the design had still been a simple white cube with a pink couverture chocolate spot in the middle to declare its taste, but also did he try his best to record every little change, proudly displaying them on his own social media that seemed to consist of more of these lovely little creations than his own faces and sometimes both of them together. And when people later asked in the comments where he had been or whether it had been good, when they promised they’d check it out too, he wanted to pride himself in how he was helping Zhengting out in promoting his shop. But then again, he felt sorry when seeing the younger so exhausted some nights, running on autopilot and making all these mistakes that wouldn’t happen normally, and more than just once he had asked the patissiere why he wouldn’t just get a helping hand in doing all these works. (The answer usually was about Zhengting priding himself in his skills and that he would feel guilty, sending out products under his name when he hadn’t created them himself. It had already come as a surprise to Yanjun when the sweets maker had gotten a part timer to run the counter on especially busy days.)  
It was nearly therapeutic, to be watching each of these little pieces to be assembled one by one, it was like that ASMR thing everyone would listen to except it had visual aspects too and a pretty face to work with it, making it just all that better. By now he could predict the upcoming actions even, now that the fillings were done, they’d get chilled, one by one, and then again, taken out, one by one, to be covered in heaps of chocolate just for the excess to be scraped over, and in the time between the last tray being put into the fridge and the first tray being out, there was this new little routine for them, started by Zhengting facing the cold, one hand already on the door to close it as he asked, “Coffee or tea?”  
Routine, it was just that, for Yanjun, to answer, “Coffee. With milk,” before he’d follow the owner of this little shop out into the public area, albeit currently closed, and it was just moments later they were standing there, both with some warm cup in their hands. “You hung up a new picture.” Something he had seen already when coming in, and in that little mixture of paintings and photographs that seemed to be changing with the seasons as did the sweet treats, he had easily recognized the one that was new. A print, he himself had gifted it to the younger during autumn, when he had been told this new advertisement he had starred in had been looking extraordinarily good. One call and a few days later, the print of one of the pictures taken, framed and in a proper size, had been delivered to the shop as a little gift, and because he was aware that sending it to Zhengting’s home was a worse option when he would be around his shop nearly all the time as compared to a place called home that was used but to sleep.  
“It goes well with the mood,” the owner answered, and for a moment the model indulged the way the dark haired was looking at the print, the light flush on pale cheeks which he faulted on the exertion of making sweets rather than what it might be else. Because it would be natural, blushing at this kind of portray, he remembered it well, the tropical garden they had been shooting at overseas, the dim lights of the sunset aided by artificial strobes peeking through the leaves while he had just stepped out of that little pond, white shirt sheer as it clung to his skin and with his face partly hidden, only those who knew that advertisement, one expensive little perfume, or who knew him, would be able to recognize his features in that setting but to everyone else… He wasn’t even sure what they would feel, even he had felt a variety of emotions from looking at this certain picture stuck within his portfolio, because it was just too versatile in its expressions.   
“Was one of my favorites from last year.” And it had been, there were few shootings that were still rather intriguing even in the aftermath, there were too many that were boring, always the same task, always so simple, this one had been a change, and it had lasted long, hours of a day, just to get different feels with how the sun had changed, but it had been exhilarating compared to having to act casual or just standing within an empty set. “They’ll be releasing another scent soon. I was told the shooting would be in Dubai next.”   
Such revelation trickled over into some casual chatter, congratulations for having been chosen again, questions about whether he’d get to see anything there, and if some weeks later, after his return and delivery of sweet treats he had brought along, such as Khameer or Maamoul, he found some pralines in the display inspired by such tastes, he didn’t comment on it. There was only Justin awfully cheerful handing him some with his order of coffee and telling him that Zhengting would be at the back.

There had been a time, within the first year of Zhengting owning his small café, when one of the machines had broken down, leading to the owner to be stuck somewhere between getting all angry at the production company for creating something that would so easily break down and getting desperate because of an order he had received, one of the first on top, and if executed well, there was a higher chance of getting more because, in the end, oral propaganda was still the best kind of marketing.  
Back then, he had been naive, innocent and blue-eyed, and offered his help because he couldn’t bear seeing this man he had had this teeny tiny crush on getting all worked up because of a single kitchen machine. Those words had been something he had regretted for days after, it had been worse than this whole month of basic gym routine to get him into the right shape thanks to his company’s aid - or sadistic tendencies, he still wasn’t certain about that one - and it had also been the day he had found himself with a new kind of admiration for the younger. For an hour or more he had been repeatedly handed bowls with egg whites or yolks with sugar and milk, had been told to beat and whisk them until foamy and thick and never before would he have expected this kind of work being put into something seemingly so simple.  
There had been times he had seen his mother do the same thing, whisking up eggs until they were foamy and stiff, and it had seemed like magic, how easily it was done. That day he had changed his opinion, after feeling the burn in his arms and shoulders, repeatedly changing hands despite knowing his left one was basically useless at such task, because he had not known any other way to get rid of this ache that would accompany for nearly a whole week after. Admittedly, it had helped him train his muscles, too, but as he had still struggled with this, he had also seen Zhengting pursue that same task with the same easy-going efficiency as his mother had portrayed, the clinking of steel against steel only slightly muffled by the batter when executing such speed and precision, and then he had thought of how often the sweetsmaker actually would need to do this, how often he would get the whisks out to do what the machines couldn’t or just because the feeling of doing it yourself was so different to having a machine do it for you.   
With the clock ticking away behind them, he had given those lean muscles revealed after undressing due to the exercise a new kind of look, knowing how much effort was portrayed by having firm arms, a very different kind to the one he was showing off after hours of attending fitness training. His were merely to show off, maybe he would be able to say it was because he wanted to look and be healthy, but eventually, it was because it would help him get jobs. Zhengting’s, though, had been formed by hours over hours of working, actual hard work, that included creating and finishing things that would be so thoughtlessly eaten, and it was done with such dedication it was hard to fathom.   
After it, like a little child eager to win over their father, he had kept working on that, simple tasks he did at home such as beating the eggs for his pancakes by hand, whisking the whipped cream for desserts on his own, because all the while he kept thinking of this dedication put into it all by the younger, and sometimes, when his brain so cruelly decided he needed some extra motivation, he could even hear that innocently concerned question replaying in his mind, “Are you sure you can still go on, Yanjun? You don’t need to keep helping me, you know?”  
“...you doing, Yanjun?” It was another voice to lure him out of his thoughts that had him looking up, gazing at Zhangjing standing in the entrance of the kitchen and looking at him with those sparkly eyes that reminded him of hungry dumb puppies. The smaller was a case of his own, a close friend of his he could easily live with because they had done just that, they had stayed years in the same dorm room because they had both been foreigners in this city, and despite their different majors, they had found a lot of similarities and shared interests between them. It had aided staying in contact even after their graduation, and while the music major had stuck with his area of expertise, becoming a vocal coach at some company and sometimes featuring in soundtracks, it had also lead to having a bit of an irregular living situation. Not that Zhangjing didn’t have a place to live of his own, it just wasn’t in the same city as Yanjun’s, so those time his same aged friend had to come here, his doors were open for him to stay some nights or more. As he had thought, it had been easy then, and it was still easy now.   
With a bit of delay he was able to piece together what that question had been, giving the other a little shrug as he simply answered, “Breakfast.” There was none of that charming smile he would usually show others with their questions because, again, he was just that comfortable around his former roommate, no need to put on his usual charm offensive when it was someone who had seen him throwing up in the morning because of some hangover induced by him and himself alone for thinking drinking games at parties were a good idea. To no one’s surprise - they weren’t. Add to that how he had recently gone for brunch at an American café, his craving for pancakes had been grand, and now that he had a visitor he could show off to, it was a nice excuse to whip out his egg whisking skills to prepare exactly that.   
“You could use a machine for that,” his guest aided so helpfully and, of course, he could do that, Zhangjing probably would because that midget of a friend was lazy but there was still this childishly competitive part of his that didn’t want him to embarrass himself in front of Zhengting in the unlikely case such scene ever repeated and by now, too, it was some sort of a routine already, doing these tasks without electronic help, but instead of voicing such reasons all he replied was, “Helps building muscle.” And it was as good as any other excuse he could have put up, it only seemed more believable when he was indeed prone to work out and his best friend knew that much.   
Further complaints coming from his best friend died once breakfast was actually served, rather breaking into compliments of how these pancakes did indeed taste nicer than what was sometimes served during schedules or in shops, conjuring a smug little grin on the model’s face that was accompanied with a boastful, “Because it was done by hand!” Not wanting to feed that already overdone ego anymore, all the smaller did was release a light huff, letting the conversation accompanying their breakfast trickle into small talk about their today’s plans, and if just to coordinate whether or not they would have the time to dine together at night. Even if not, there would hardly be a problem, not when Zhangjing was already a proud owner of one set of spare keys for those times he had to come to the city but shootings took up Yanjun’s time, not when coordinating their busy days had proven more difficult than just getting a new set of and passing on his security code. After all, it was what they had been used to for years now.

Slowly he skipped through the magazine within his hands, cover decorated by his own face so nicely, albeit the memory of the shoot still had him shivering in disdain. The editor had been a sadist, and the stylist had had no other choice but to go along with their wishes, leading to him having had to stand beneath the warm summer light, bare feet having his toes curling around moist sand for their shooting location had been the beach, and while the swimming season had not yet picked up, with the water being freezing cold, it had still been way too warm to be dressed in a thick wool sweater and heavy pants. One might think after years in the business he was used to this, the whole act of shooting summer outfits in winter and winter outfits in summer and sometimes some seasonally fitting outfits in between, but the truth was, it was not something he could ever get used to.   
Walking down windy alleys on sunny winter days while dressed in flimsy shirts or, like that beach spread, having to stand beneath the burning sun in suffocating clothes, was not something he could ever get used to. It was an internal struggle, the way he hated indoor shootings because they offered less of a variety of settings but preferring them because at least he didn’t need to sit in freezing cold water just to work on the pamphlet for swimming clothes that would usually be released two months or some ahead of the season, so people would know what to buy already in advance. It were such occasions he usually enjoyed complaining to Zhengting about, during these nightly visits, because at least the patissiere had empathy with him, as compared to people working within the field who’d just shrug it off and tell him, “Then you shouldn’t be doing this job, dear.” Why did everyone need to call him dear or such anyways?  
Some pages further in, and a familiar face was already greeting him, endorsing some more famous jewelry line, elaborate rings decorating slender fingers, same set as was pulling down the magazine just some seconds later so he could see the real deal rather than some shiny print version. “It’s not nice to be looking at a magazine when you have company, Yanjun,” a melodious voice greeted him and, maybe for the first time this day, an honest smile decorated his lips as he looked at Ziyi in front of him.   
“It's also not nice to leave me waiting,” he grinned back at the younger, alas, he closed his magazine and put it aside to be able to take in the sight of his co-worker instead, who had already started complaining, as much as someone as mannerly as Ziyi could complain, how the shoot had dragged on longer than anticipated because the photographer had not been satisfied with the result of everything put together, prolonging the process of the right light adjustments, clothes and makeup, how everything had been placed, and it was something he could understand. Compared to the routine of making pralines he was so used to observe late in the evening, being a model was way less of a steady job, considering how all these factors played into it, making studio shoots still somewhat easier to achieve because there everything could be controlled but once natural light came into play, depending on photographer, model, and team, it could take up to three times as much time as planned.   
In this case, he could relate to Ziyi's struggles all the more, he was familiar with that photographer and had already worked with him, a nice guy, very open minded and friendly, yet still a bit green behind the ears and lacking practice on the field to finish as fast as the fossils of the field, add to that nervousness and a constant need to prove himself… “You did well. Holding on and all,” he voiced out, and given what a gentle giant his company mate was, it came as no surprise it had still been handled peacefully and as calmly. Sometimes he had had an urge to scold these photographers, that took forever with tasks others might finish faster, but then he remembered that each had their own tasks to fulfill, that his was to just stand there and look pretty for the lens, to orchestrate the clothes and jewelry to make them truly stand out, so him telling someone off, it would only backfire.  
“Will you tell me why we’re not going to your usual café now?” The dark haired asked with a soft smile, conversation interrupted only by the waitress coming over to take the new order, be it because staff was outstandingly efficient in this shop or she was attracted to the looks, Yanjun wouldn’t question it, unlike the way he had been. Naturally Ziyi knew about his favorite place to be it, it would me more astounding people would not know when he was so zealously promoting it, and at the same time, he had never taken any of his friends there, not wanting to bear their knowing smiles, smug expressions, Zhengting and his little store, they were his little sanctuary, not a place for him to share in such personal way as would have been to take his other acquaintances along to there.  
“Will you tell me why you didn’t ask Zhangjing out yet now?” He asked in return, acting nonchalant as he opened up the menu, seemingly scanning the menu for something light to eat when in reality, they were only fighting with the same weapons, using one little secret against another, and those glances his one friend had thrown his other, they could hardly remain a hidden mystery when they were so obvious, so cute, had been ever since he had taken his colleague along to his dorm years ago and gotten to watch these two get closer slowly. Maybe Zhangjing’s going home after university for some months, and then being busy working in a handful of cities at once, hadn’t been really aiding such wish as confessing though.  
“We went for dinner yesterday,” the younger said in defense, as if that would solve all problems, and just as usual in the late years, the blond saved him a discussion of how a simple dinner was really not the same as going out officially. It was something he could say, launch a little matchmaking talk of when his two best friends would finally start dating, but the problem was, if he were to start such talk, he would receive the same as well, this little questionnaire as to what this was that was going on with him and the baker everyone knew about and no one had seen, because albeit his friends had tried putting their noses into his business, he was too aware of how Zhengting was not the kind to abandon his kitchen more often than not, especially now that there were indeed more part-timers to take care of counter business, easing the owner’s own tasks.  
So he didn’t press further, he just changed the topic again, to something else, something more casual, asking about family and friends and work and schedules and both of them were just dodging the elephant in the room that always seemed to come back with each of his former roommate’s visits.

The clock was distantly ticking away, filling the silence of his home that was too high up to be harassed by the sounds of the hardly frequented street he lived in, but it was loud enough, this little ticking of such meager installment, and it was making him regret, ever having bought such accessory just because he had thought his kitchen walls were looking too bare, too empty. Now he didn’t like it, now it was slowly driving him insane, because it was a reminder of the time cruelly progressing, informing him how he was wasting second after second during which he could do something else, healthier, such as sleeping, because it was a god awful hour with the skies outside painted black. It was one of those rare nights, because he was no victim of insomnia but even his hormones were prone to mess up, not following the natural clock that was created by the sun’s standing but the artificial concept of time humans had come up with and that was awfully changing when traveling around half the world.   
In Paris it would be late afternoon, the time he would have just ended one show and either gone to another or to some after show party or just taken pictures on a stroll through the city he was slowly becoming familiar with but never used to. He liked the sweets, because they were adorable, little petit fours and chocolates, those macrons he knew Zhengting loved and he always bought to bring back home, perfectly baked croissants that tasted wonderful with a café au lait in the morning. He did not like the time difference, when just one day ago this had been the time he would have drank some afternoon tea with some little treats, calling it some cheat days despite how he was supposed to run one show or another, and now was not one day ago, but a too long flight back home that messed with his sleeping schedule and resulted in him being awake, a once steaming cup of tea between his hands and his thoughts drifting into every direction and yet none.  
Tick, tock, on went the clock, and he could do little more than cross his arms on the counter and rest his head on top, wishing upon sleep that would not come, when laying in bed would be quite as frustrating and suffocating if not more, when watching TV was no option for it would do little more than strain his eyes and lead to irritation brought upon him the next day, when listening to music was no aid because there was no artist that would help him fall asleep and pursuit of one seemed far too strenuous in his current state of wanting sleep to overcome him instead. Soft little sigh escaped him that only seemed to reverberate in the silence of his home, a place that seemed so empty and vast after days of turmoil and noise, of event halls packed to the brim with people and music playing so loud, of the constant chatter only halted by the models’ shoes’ clatter, and now he remembered why he preferred the camera to those eyes.  
Even when his own walks were so rare, when he way more preferred to just pose for the lens, those fashion weeks he had to attend, surrounded by people he was supposed to know and talked to, they were exhausting, a different scale to a limited amount of people on a set of limited space, in a country he was familiar with so many photographers after years of work, when magazines booked the same staff again and again, it was familiar terrain, it was his thing, was the area he had specialized in, to express things with his face and not his steps. He admired those who could, who bore with the many people behind the scenes and those countless orbs on them, because a stage that was static held way less stress, no fifty models needing to be prepared for at once, because on a magazine spread already ten were a stretch, and each of them was treated one by one, it was relaxed, at least when compared to these runway shows.  
Only a little buzz served as distraction to his annoyance with the ticking clock, display lit up brightly and with nothing else to do, he reached for his phone, silent hope there might be something else to do, maybe a message from a friend suffering the same fate as him. Nothing of the likes, although still delightful to have received a following from some prominent person, it had no sorts of activity to offer to his inaction, something he would have still ended up regretting with the blaring illumination of such little device in the darkness of his kitchen, so he didn’t know why he was moving his finger around lazily, pulling up one certain chat. Last activity reported to have been five minutes ago. So Zhengting was just the same as him and yet not at all, probably standing in the kitchen of the bakery, pondering some new recipe, trying to figure out how to make a cake from scratch and the dough fluffier, how to get a filling smoother and sweeter, only ever aiming for perfection with his sweets.  
For a moment, this same finger hovered above the keyboard, ready to write a message, to ask how it was going, exposing his own current state. He did nothing in the end, only locked his phone again and headed back to bed, hoping for sweet sleep to finally overcome him and rid him of this tiring jetlag.

“I heard your little sweetheart was featured in another magazine,” an all too known voice said next to him and already could he feel the impending headache hanging upon him like the blade of a guillotine pulled up by one single person. Unwillingly, he opened one eye from where he had them squeezed together initially to look down at his shoes, feeling relief wash over him when those were indeed not his white sneakers but just darkly colored boots, enough of the reassurance he needed to not fear any more. One pair of ruined shoes had been enough for sure.  
“He’s not my sweetheart,” he sighed in return, head adjusted upwards to look into the mirror he had previously avoided, not yet ready to face reality of work when he was feeling exceptionally tired this morning, part of it might have had to do with having been invited to a movie premier the night before, and that lead to dinner, to wine, and getting home way too late for an early morn ahead. Generously he pretended to have overheard the “yet you knew immediately who I was talking about” in favor of taking up the journal he was handed, page easily falling open to a spread depicting a shop front he was so very familiar with, delicate hands he loved watching put equally delicate sweets together, a handsome face more befit of the fashion section than culinary’s resting on dry knuckles on top of the overly polished cake display showcasing all the little treats offered.  
It was making him quite as proud to see as it filled him with jealousy, because this beautiful visage only he had known of before, or at least he told himself so, was now revealed to the public in a rather splendid way. That one of his pictures in the well known instagram design and original description had been featured seemed to be as much copyright to his marketing strategy as it was rubbing salt into this little wound he could have never imagined he would possess. So lost in such sight, he had already missed out on most of his makeup progress, simple tasks as looking slightly upwards to give easier access to his lower eyelids or parting and closing his lips to allow even the simplest lip product to be applied came to him like second nature after years, small surprise overtaking him when he was told he could go on to the clothes now because his make-up and hair artists were done only to swiftly change into dread. Because clothes meant Linkai and Linkai meant teasing. Which he was not ready for.  
No way but bow down to his fate and beg for the best as he made his way over to the other corner of the room, unable to avoid the inevitable outcome of having to encounter his younger friend again.  
The stylist was not an unapproachable guy nor a pest, although sometimes even Yanjun wanted to doubt his own belief, there was just something about their dynamic that had changed over the months they had been working together, morphing from a considerate distance into blunt teasing at the model’s charge, born from the older’s leniency and the younger’s zestful character. It was not a bad relationship or it would have already ended, destined to cease before it had begun, neither was it filled with a temper he would be able to bear with every other day, dosage meaning atter, and in his current tired state it meant more of a poison than an antidote to blaring routine. There was a hint of appreciation coming up when not immediately he was greeted with more of that sharp tongue’s spice, some moments of silence as he was just handed the clothes to change into without awkward regard to his surroundings, broken only when small clamps had to be used to fix the folds in the clothes that were meant to be worn by many, not one. “Aren’t you going to finally introduce him to us?”  
Us. As if there actually was some sort of group of friends he had to present his secret pleasure of another human to. There probably was, when he thought it over, those people he happened to work with more often and those same persons with each other as well, creating a cozy little group of theirs that sometimes was expanded and sometimes shrank down. Evident in the way he happened to take Zhangjing along if a friendly dinner superposed his best friend’s visits, when some of Linkai’s friends, like that singer-slash-producer or the actor, happened to crave a drink of their own. It was comfortable, interesting more often than not because their world of fashion was something they knew, a staccato only interrupted by people of different careers, but taking Zhengting along meant implying there was more to their friendship than reality suggested, a hidden meaning to their encounters when it was just some sort of healing therapy for him to recover from some days of stress.  
Although he supposed that his having kept that same man hidden for so long was implying different things all over again when bringing some new face along to their casual rounds would aid in lifting a veil of mystery from their status. But lifting that same veil meant facing a rejection to a fantasy he wasn’t willing to risk, not when their nightly encounters resembling a dream would be dismantled by the reality of meeting his friends. “I’ll think about it,” he instead only said but both he and Linkai knew he would not, that it was a decision set in stone, a boulder neither of them was able to break without a tool mightier than humane hands. Such truth was unavoidable when already he felt one of those clamps pinching the skin at his neck rather than the collar meant to be held, and with a pained little grunt he pulled himself free from youthful clutches to instead skip to the set. That the younger was still calling over him to return that extra tool he pretended not to hear. 

The pink dough was new. The bright pink dough currently getting poured into a piping bag to be cleanly filled into the pink paper cups already lining several trays, probably tasting of raspberries or roses, because spring was turning the patissier more experimental since years now, just as late autumn meant returning to the roots for the Christmas season when everyone was craving warm spices and little assortments of western baked goods made great presents for in between. In his mind it was already taking form, that unexpected twist of having the dough taste of roses while the frosting would be of berries, decorated with a rose petal made of sugar paste because it would be unexpected to anyone but him who was already so used to how Zhengting would be wanting to spread taste evenly rather than just on top.  
It was the sort of unexpected as was his showing up in the mornings, when usually he would come here at night but this change of pace was nothing either of them could predict, schedules sometimes overwhelming, and his only chance of peace of mind was showing up early in the morning to get a taste of caffeine and then some silent recharge of energy before being thrown out into the cruel and harsh world of fashion once again. It was the sort of unexpected that seeing the shop open up early was, because he was so used to it opening up only short of noon, his thumb hovering a green button already, he hadn’t expected them going into an experimental phase of Minghao needing an extra bout of cash and Zhengting allowing the kid to try out an early morning “Coffee Only” thing, apparently with some special conditions of how the teen needed to take care of everything on his own, from planning and scheduling to ordering and bookholding. A huge sign of trust between these two but seeing how it apparently went well so far, creative coffee ideas going well, it might not be a bad idea, one he didn’t dare question when he had just gone past and fixed himself one of his own, too familiar with machines that weren’t his and wondrously managing not to hinder that kid during work before he disappeared through the door and into the kitchen behind.  
Which was the exact spot he was at now, sitting on one of the counters with the foam still covering the top of his coffee, watching as dough was meticulously poured into forms, metal hitting metal so the pink cream would carry an even surface, not become odd during the rise of baking, and then a question slipped his lips without even knowing, “Why didn’t you tell me?” One that was replied to with a short but questioning gaze, concentration making it hard to lead proper conversation but it was something he used to, how the joking would come after work, in little breaks, not that he minded, just being allowed to watch the sweets maker create each piece from scratch was enough of a silent conversation that he didn’t need no interruption. “About that magazine spread.”  
There was a flicker of mixed emotions in these bright orbs when directed at him, somewhere between surprise and exasperation and disbelief but the answer that came was unexpected yet not, because all about this man seemed to come surprisingly when it was not, an arrogance to these words that might have caught others off guard when the younger replied, “You can’t expect to keep a face like mine hidden forever!” It seemed contradictory, someone who was always closed off in the kitchen and focusing on sugary treats wanting to be out in the public eye, but this very same person in front of him had been working with such vigor to be seen, trying and failing at creation after creation just so he’d be known, his work be recognized, and when it was accompanied by such visuals it was no surprise delight was taken in being out in the public after a while. It made sense, it was reasonable, he was no better with his face plastered across billboards and magazine covers, but that little flame of jealousy about now everyone seeing the beauty he had kept hidden for so long was quite unreasonable in exchange.  
“No, probably not…” He muttered under his breath, more to himself than into the room, and it was not caught by the other already focused on his pipe and paper cups again, allowing him to take in that same sight again, of a finely drawn jaw still evident despite the tugged in posture, the harsh glow of diligently cared for skin beneath the bright ceiling lights, that stern expression in dark eyes veiled by long eyelashes that spoke tales of the focus put into work. Elegant hands with just a few millimeters short of perfect proportions, that would be surprisingly soft to the touch as if all the constant hand washing did not affect that tough skin when he was already aware it was thanks to a proud collection of hand creams carelessly thrown into one drawer, the callouses that could not be hidden and the strength hidden even in a simple hand shake because kneading dough just was not that easy and he had seen such task going on for a quarter hour or more at times, had learned more about baking and recipes by watching Zhengting alone than any ever so informative show could have ever taught.   
Little clatter of the trays hitting the oven compartments pulled him out of his self induced trance, lost in a fantasy of a man of reality in front of his eyes, currently making sure the cupcake base would be baked and setting a timer before those same eyes that could usually lure all truth out of him were directed at him again, soft smile playing around rosy lips and already could he feel all tension fall off his shoulders. This was why he came here, this ease and comfort, a place he could relax in and let go of all pressure and stress, no expectations towards him, no need to look perfect when he felt like a tired mess, it was what he wanted and what he needed. “I didn’t think you’d see it. You said you don’t like reading magazines. Or are you not yet tired of seeing your own face everywhere?”  
That made him huff, little smirk on his own face as if to question whether anyone could get tired of his sight but within this room it seemed so easy to speak the truth, not keep up an appearance when at the same time he tried his best to not lay all of him bare in front of his very opposite. “A friend gave it to me,” he still answered earnestly, looking down into his cup as he swirled his coffee around, watching how the foam was slowly painted brown because it was better than these dark orbs that made him feel too many things than he wanted to think about. “But I would have liked it more had you told me about it…” So focused on his cup, he didn’t notice the younger moving until he felt a wrist carefully rub over his head, messing up his already messy hair, but he felt the consideration in that move that involved not wanting to get bits of raw mass into his dyed strands when knowing there was a shoot still to come.  
“Next time I will,” the well meant promise came right after, one that carried a dark implication because he did not want for there to be more shoots, not when he still unreasonably thought that this was a sight for him to have, childishly not wanting to share even though reason told him it was not his right to decide, had never been and would never be, because Zhengting was a person of his own and not just a toy within his golden hands. “I’ll let you know first when it’s time but don’t tell the kids.” Because that was a thing, teasing his brother-like employees and Yanjun would gladly aid in such task as long as it made the younger happy, despite knowing it was not one-sided, that the owner was often enough victim of bullying too, and those fun moments he had rarely caught sight of, that involved running after these energetic youngsters and scolding them for the nonsense they said when in reality they were all too alike.

In some way, it was funny to be guest at a company dinner when he wasn’t part of said company, no matter how often Xukun tried to assure him that he was an always welcome guest, it didn’t seem easy to lose such tension until he was maybe three drinks in. There was no blame to be put onto those people around him, after modeling so often for the magazine his friend was deputy art director for, despite his young age, because dedication and effort knew no count of years, he was familiar with most of them, had worked with most of them one way or another. It was unsettling in different ways, after always being surrounded by a lot of people on set, during working hours, it had become his habit to retreat during his time off, to relax at home or, as was his favorite activity, seek sanctuary at Zhengting’s store. Therefore it definitely was not the fact that he disliked any of them, but the effort of relaxing around people when it was so unlike what he was used to seemed like a challenge.  
“Yanjun, my dear,” the spokesperson of his invitation greeted him, for the second time this night, after having been dragged away after the initial one for still being the highest ranked employee attendant and needing to take a drink with, apparently, about anyone. So at least he wanted to spare the younger, handing a glass of water over rather than another glass of Soju, lest the vice of the department ends up the first to pass out, and making sure it would end up empty before their conversation had even started, although it did nothing to air the slur in language coming in, “‘ve seen your new pictures. Looking good as always. Really our golden boy.”  
“Golden boy,” he repeated slowly, whispering into his own glass that was indeed filled with the water for adults, burning down his throat and hopefully washing down the nickname he had just repeated. Golden Boy. It had been some time since he had last heard that one, two words that had not only been born from his fitting skin color but also the easy start into the career he had had, despite having taken it slow in the beginning, it wasn’t one he enjoyed listening to, as if he hadn’t put effort into getting to where he was standing now. If someone were to ask him, it sounded no better than accusing him of having ridden down a slide built by his parents’ fame, although that seemed more than unlikely, when considering both his parents working rather simple jobs, and his father still suspecting this was like a balloon about to burst. Which wouldn’t make holding it against Xukun now fair, not when his friend was so clearly inebriated and most definitely not considering his words, the implications behind, especially when the younger had still been a beginner in the industry around the time he had already decorated magazine covers. “Did you eat enough to stomach this many drinks?”  
If it were possible like in a comic, he was certain his opposite would’ve paled to the point of whiteness now, turning into a caricature of black and white, only to then fall over, but instead, the younger merely looked like a child caught while stealing cookies, awfully aware of how he must not have eaten enough all of a sudden. Compared to the usually shown aloof and alert image of someone who was in charge at such young age and so efficiently dedicated to his job, this adorable image was really a sight to behold, an unexpected charm so to say.  
“How adorable,” he could hear Zhengting say, fingers so used to roughly kneading dough pinching into the magazine employee’s cheeks, twist them between his fingers until the victim of such treatment was grimacing in pain and even then would the sweetsmaker be oblivious to his own strength. It was an image he had to literally shake off his mind, dizziness hitting him from the whiplash of such action and making him reconsider whether he was supposed to take up another glass to drink, or whether he should just swallow it all down with especially another glass to drink. A decision that was taken off his shoulders when sometime in between his getting lost in fantasies and startled with a hand on his upper arm Xukun had already stopped a waiter for another bottle to drink and filled both their glasses, now handing him one, making him feel guilty for having the younger drink another one but also, it was too much of a coincidence to not consider it a choice of fate so he downed it diligently, pictures of the patissiere vanishing from his mind only to come haunt him later on again.   
As it did indeed, at the latest when most other people had gone, the downside of the company life, even if working for a fashion magazine apparently meant more freedom, nobody was safe from the wrath of a hangover and less so at a certain age. Somehow he had still noticed his friend tell them to take half a day off altogether to recover throughout the morning and be fit for work afterwards, nothing that did include him, he had already checked with his manager and the most for him to do would be an entertainment show recording at night, hardly anything one needed to get up early for. So it was easy to imagine the comfort of the bakery, the sweet scents of goods fresh out of the oven, the many tastes of frostings, fillings and icings he had been allowed to scrap out of bowls, all washed down by another gulp of alcohol that so easily dispersed the images like a drop of water on aquarel, and then blown away by Xukun quite literally falling against him.  
“‘m sorry,” the drunk one said lightly, managing to sit down on a chair without another accident to come although needing to heavily lean against the backrest. “Wanted to talk to you today. Didn’t know I’d be held up so much…” Although it wasn’t a rare occurrence, so much the model was aware of, not only during company dinners and drinks but even on an everyday matter, making the younger a truly favored superior who was always chatted up by one person or another, work hours or not. “Girl asked me for your number. A model or something. Pretty. Tall. Didn’t want to give it to her without checking.”  
If Kinder Surprise could be translated into a situation of real life, he was certain it would be like this, eat away the delicious layer of chocolate, which had been the drinking earlier, and then find a surprise inside, sometimes delightful sometimes disappointing, and he wasn’t quite certain yet how to feel about someone asking for his number like this. Maybe because ever since he had started working, he had neglected the aspect of dating, running from job to university to another job and then, later one, it had turned into job, Zhengting, job.   
“Don’t mean to pry,” the brunette started again, palm pushing into his cheek from where it was resting on in a somewhat unattractive manner, easily forgiven when even just roughly assessing the amount of drinks that had been gulped down. Not like paparazzi would just jump out from a wall anyways. “But you’ve been on the single list for years. People are wondering. Since you’re favored. Never showing interest.” The slur might be a bit gone by now, but the short sentences definitely gave such condition away, one that couldn’t be waved away like the thought that was implied. “Don’t feed the rumors any more. She seemed nice. Pretty. Just accept it.”

Since attending his last fashion show in Paris he hadn’t seen eclairs nor macrons around, more so because he usually didn’t linger around sweet stuff than a lack of treats served in this country, he could easily go to the next French bakery but none of them seemed appealing when he had one shop to visit whenever he wanted to. Now trays of them were spread out in front of them, little servings of fillings prepared, merely a handful of each taste finished, a routine he was familiar with now, it happened whenever the younger wanted to try out new recipes and still needed to choose between those he wanted to sell but when creativity had taken over and so many flavors had been easy to create. There was one big folder stored on one of the shelves, holding all these ideas that never made it out into the display but could be used during other occasions or the next season again.  
Several tastes were put together in such delightful colors and yet he couldn’t properly focus on it, wanted to assess them all one by one now that he had finished his coffee and slowly gotten out of his after work haze, which wasn’t possible when his phone vibrated once, twice on the table next to him, the metal surface reverberating and throwing the sound back in an awfully loud manner. The baker didn’t seem to mind yet, but the third buzz was annoying to him, so he replaced the cup in between his hands against the mobile device to look at who had messaged him so persistently, only finding an unknown number showing up. From there, it seemed all too easy to connect the dots, even without opening the messages that read out exactly what he had been suspecting, that the one who had written him had been the model Xukun had mentioned some nights ago, apparently a sweet person by the manner she wrote, how she introduced herself as the one his friend must have mentioned before, then she had apparently realized how she had forgotten to properly introduce herself yet and quickly caught up on that, and the final one was an apology about being so scatterbrained for being so nervous. Altogether, it really made it seem like a pink filtered high school romance instead of a plan to schedule a date between adults.   
Imagining things, more so when he didn’t even know what his mystic messenger looked like despite having gotten her name, must have taken up more time than he had thought because too soon he was startled out of his focus by a plate being carefully placed on his lap, carrying an assortment of the many eclairs that had already been finished up and most definitely he was supposed to later offer a review of sorts, now completely slipping his mind when seeing the unreadable expression on the owner’s face. “Is it about work again?”  
“Hm?” For a moment he didn’t entirely understand what the question was about, not until Zhengting pointed at the phone still in his hands which he was quick to put away thereafter, not caring about how he was leaving these messages on read. “No, not this time.” Hesitating for some moment he couldn’t name, it was another few seconds before he added, “Xukun - a friend - he organized kind of a blind date for me. She just messaged me about it.” It was odd, admitting such truth to his friend, for as sparse as his love life had been in the recent years his conversations about such with his close friend had been too, adding to the odd dynamic of their relationship, this vagueness of being so close and yet not knowing all that much about each other, and now this very fact had added to some sort of awkward mood between the two of them.   
He couldn’t remember the last time it had been awkward, it was weird, it must not have been since the first handful of times he had ever talked to the baker, initiated this relationship between them that must have been so startling and confusing to the younger so used to retreat into his backroom before. They had their routine, this beautifully relaxing atmosphere of being around each other that suddenly seemed to fade away, filled with tension instead, until all was broken by one of those charming smiles of the owner who, once again, raised his hand to point elsewhere, at the plate on his lap, “You should try them. The kids won’t actually be helpful so lend me your more refined taste buds, alright?”  
And so he did, at least if it were the least he could do to save their mood from going down and under, he’d willingly sacrifice himself to try some eclairs that always again tasted like heaven. It was several bites and too many words spoken to discuss the treats later that he was out of the shop and on the streets again, eventually remembering that he had some messages he was supposed to reply to. 

She was nice. So much he could say after having walked around a park for a while, both too mindful of their bodies to just consider some dinner at some restaurant, or at least she was as he had found out, mindful of her body, of her health, of her figure and skin. It sounded superficial but for some reason it was not, opinions delivered in such chirpy manner, he couldn’t help feeling as if it were some sort of admirable mindset that differed from his own so much. Yet it remained evident even when they had settled in some comfortable jazz club, plush red velvet sofas and delightful drinks, and she remained with water and tea much rather than the subtle drinks he had chosen to order.  
However she was not only nice, she seemed considerate, she was undoubtedly beautiful, and even her voice was relaxing to listen to, making it hard for him to find a single fault so far, because those traits that might count as such seemed to only make her more appealing, making it easy to understand why his friend had recommended him to meet her indeed. So it felt unfair, to consider how, despite having spent some hours now with her and finding her great company, objectively being able to say she was one ideal woman, he didn’t feel able to feel that spark between them. A spark that was praised in literature and movies and tales, who knew how real it actually was, he couldn’t even remember whether he had felt any such thing during previous relationships, those based on hormones and immature desires that came with puberty, with good looks that had allowed him to experiment a bit back then, and now allowed him not to feel lesser than the beautiful woman opposite him.  
Surprisingly it was an easy way to pass time, spending such moments talking to her, about this and that, work and travel and food, to discover how she had already followed some of his works and made it a habit to study his poses and expressions as was not unusual among models, how she had even already followed his social media since a while but it was unlike him to check notifications, only following those people he actually knew himself. Time passed fluidly, never a moment that lasted too long, so when she checked a message from her manager it was a first to check the clock, realize it was too late for her, both of them, with impending schedules starting from the early morning.  
With a smile and gentle words he sent her off with a cab before he, too, checked his messages, finding some rather surprising ones. His manager adjusting his schedule. Xukun asking about the date. Zhengting updating him on how his choices had affected the selection for the shop. Ziyi asking about the date. His sister telling him about having booked a flight to come visit. Zhangjing asking- Zhangjing actually calling.   
By reflex he pushed the green button, a deed regretted seconds later when he was greeted with that bright voice of, “You traitor! Why did I have to hear about your date from Ziyi! You’re betraying my honor of being your best friend!” Another few exclamations of distrust followed that were drowned out by his suit jacket against which he pressed the microphone until the volume had lowered to the point he could listen without any worry to his future hearing abilities. “...a model? A model dating a model, isn’t that ironic? Didn’t paparazzi catch you?”  
A slight sigh escaped him, easily drowned by the noise surrounding him as he waved another taxi closer for himself to use, telling his caller to wait for a moment while he gave away his address and sank back into the comfortable seats. Another moment to gather his composure and then he deemed himself ready for the hell of an interrogation. “No, paparazzi did not catch us,” he said first off, even though some people had recognized them and asked for pictures, or possibly taken some of them too, but sometimes he felt as if models were just treated nicer than idols or actors in general. “And I don’t know why you heard about it from Ziyi because I did not tell him-”  
“And neither did you tell me!” The older immediately huffed into the telephone, blooming like a flower in the sun with his dramatic act, which he guessed was partly faulted to the musical role the singer had taken up, and the flurry of career paths his former roommate was taking up within the singing spectrum was truly giving Yanjun whiplash with time. “But I bet you told Zhengting immediately, traitorous as you are! Wait- Aren’t you dating that guy? Did you break up? Does he even know? Are you cheating on him? Because if you are cheating, you’re doing a really bad job at it, and I can’t condone it. It’d be the lowest of low acts committed by men and-”  
“We’re not dating,” he interrupted, feeling a headache creeping up on him that might be caused by stress, drinking, driving, or just the amount of words said per minute by someone living hours away from him. Was Zhangjing even still in China? He wasn’t exactly sure as of the moment. “Zhengting and I… We never dated. Okay? So I’m not cheating and I’m not interested in cheating either, and yes, he does know, but not because I told him but because he found out by accident. Do you know want to know about her or keep acting jealous over him?”  
“You’re tired.” A surprising statement, out of context and yet so full of it, because with the distraction of his date’s company he felt exhaustion kick in, and if one person could tell without even looking at him, it would be his best friend, having perfected the art of reading him to the point it had even succeeded his own mother. “You’re still in the car, right? Tell me while you’re in and then you can just hang up and go to bed. Is tomorrow going to be a tiring day for you?”

It happened during the second date, after they had dinner in a somewhat fancier restaurant and were enjoying the wine left over from after dessert, that he received a call from an unknown number. That alone was unusual, he was picky with his number after all, business handled by his manager, most of his friends having made it a habit to message him rather than call, and an occurrence of some stalker getting his number seemed unprecedented. Still hesitating over whether to pick up, and then whether to call back, it was a message that followed that made him curious.  
“I’m Yanchen, a friend from Zhengting. Please call back asap!” Such words spelled within the green bubble seemed to give him enough of a reason to excuse himself for a moment and head to a quieter corner to follow the request and tap around on his screen until he heard the familiar ringing that signaled he was only waiting to be connected. It took only seconds to be greeted by a low but melodious voice that seemed soothing even despite having to yell over the music of some club sounding rather trashy, “Hi! Yanjun, right? Are you free right now? Because I’m in a bit of a tight spot - you see, Zhengting got a bit too drunk and he demands to see you and, honestly, I’m not really fond of having me or my boyfriend get hit by him because he’s absolutely refusing to get going unless you’re here with him.”  
Under normal circumstances, he would question that onslaught of words from a complete stranger but combine the horrible music, the words “Zhengting” and “drunk” and the mention of a boyfriend, he could imagine that guy was in somewhat of a tight spot. Probably it had been an innocent intention of just having a good time together that had turned into a somewhat sappy night, even though he couldn’t understand someone being drunk to such point already now, nor why said person would keep asking for him. Yet it was behavior so unlike the controlled and disciplined man he knew that the following words slipped past his lips with ease. “I’ll get there in a bit. Can you send me the address of the club while I see off my date and move there?” Already could he see Xia lean over in her chair to be able to look at him, throw him a worried glance when he had still not come back to the table, and all he could do was give her an apologetic smile while he was listening to Yanchen agree and then say goodbye, short signal notifying him of an end to his call.  
He felt sorry, having to end their date so suddenly with the mention of some sort of family emergency despite how positively she accepted it, saying how their dinner had already ended anyways, and wishing him good luck on the situation, but he felt even sorrier a while later when he was within the club and spotted Zhengting already from a distance, slouched onto the table and talking, maybe even whining or protesting, to some guy he didn’t know. A slighter boy who didn’t exactly fit the voice he had heard so he could only suspect it was the boyfriend, hunch that was proven right when suddenly that same vox yelled from his side, “Yanjun? You were faster than I thought. Yanchen!”  
This guy fitted way better, tall and handsome, and it had him wonder whether the shop owner simply attracted such people, which was not a self praise, not only, but this man in front of him, and even the two teens who, albeit young, were definitely handsome. It had him question the saying of handsome people just flocking together while accepting the hand that was held out to him as part of the introduction, followed by his new acquaintance signing towards the table to indeed find the boyfriend calming their shared friend there. If his assumption based on earlier words hadn’t been enough, the way the clearly younger man was clinging to his taller boyfriend and greeting him with a drunk smooch before grabbing for his drink were a clear indication of their relationship status.  
A sight he didn’t get to enjoy for longer than a second for another drunkard was already yelling loudly, “It’s Yanjun! Hey, Zeren, look! It’s Yanjun! I must be hallucinating!” The things that happened next seemed to happen in a rush, while he was still busy connecting the face of the unnamed boyfriend with a now name, he could with half a mind judge that Zhengting had a very adorable drunk giggle that was still intense enough to make the younger lose balance and with too little time to process the happenings, all he knew was that suddenly he had his arms full of an overly intoxicated baker who was still too delighted by “having my Yanjunie back” to realize that, no, this was not a hallucination conjured upon him by the mass of consumed alcohol.   
The brighter side of this evening’s scene seemed to be that, although not Yanchen, at least Zeren seemed a bit tipsy too, showing an expression so bright it might easily be mistaken as honest joy if not for the slight cloudiness of dark orbs as his newest acquaintance leaned forth and across the table a bit, without losing the tight grip on his boyfriend’s arm. “Ge has been talking about you for a while now, even turned down all flirts because - and I quote - ‘they’re not as handsome as Yanjunie’,” and for these words even a whiny tone was added that seemed so unlike the baker and yet befitting of the drunken behavior he had gotten to observe so far. “And then he whined about you being straight and having a date. But you don’t look straight. No straight guy dresses this well.”  
For a moment the model considered protesting, already parting his lips but any sound never left for two reasons, one being his previous caller shaking his head in the back in a way that seemed like having given up already, and the other was the concerned main character of the story nosing his neck, hogging him close like a koala hugging its tree and it was mildly concerning after years of having nearly no skinship shared. “I’m a model,” he replied slowly, as if that would explain it, but apparently too quiet over the loud music that he wasn’t even heard by the couple. Instead of further indulging his own explanation, he raised his voice a bit, to make sure it was audible, as he asked, “Did he bring any stuff with him? I’ll take him home.”  
Which was ironic, because he didn’t even know where exactly Zhengting was supposed to live, could only assume it was within the vicinity of his shop but despite their years of familiarity, never had they visited each other’s places, had not even exchanged addresses or anything more than phone numbers. Meeting up and hanging out, it had been within the security of the owner’s shop, sitting in the bakery, trying sweets and drinking coffee, and for the first time it hit him that maybe they were close, had reached a deeper understanding of each other, but never had they pursued more than a surficial knowledge of each other. He hadn’t even been aware the patissiere enjoyed frequenting clubs like these that seemed more like messy college times than a place for well behaved adults.   
It made taking the intoxicated mistaking his destiny as that of a koala’s to his own place his only option, so he accepted what was handed to him, no more than a wallet, keys and phone that had been with Yanchen lest drunk clumsiness would lead to loss of such, and wrapped his arms around the slender male to hoist him up. Not that the younger was able to walk, apparently, which meant some special sort of workout to him who had to now carry his friend who looked way lighter than he actually was and yet wasn’t nearly heavy enough to give away the strength he usually possessed. Getting home like this, while having to carry another man, was difficult, even with the blessing of taxis and elevators, because there was no stopping the nearly passed out from clinging to him, sometimes phrases of “Don’t wanna lose Yanjunnie” or “You won’t forget me for your girlfriend, right?” slipping past, but he considered the deadly blow as the question that was uttered when he put the younger down in his guest room bed, “I thought I was special to you… We were special…”  
A rather comic farewell before passing out, one he couldn’t even reply to but even if he had, it made no sense to have such talk with a drunk person so he only showed consideration by peeling awfully tight jeans off slender legs and putting his nightly guest into one of his sleep shirts rather than the button down, clothes folded and put onto a chair with his belongings before he left the younger behind to sleep. Not much time had passed but it was too much nonetheless, making him feel exhausted from the strain and tired with the knowledge of an early morning, leaving him only with a handful hours of sleep as he realized when checking his phone. The message from Xia remained unopened. 

After show parties, as much as they could be fun, were strenuous, and up to this day he couldn’t figure how people had gotten so hooked to them, or why they had even been invented. Maybe it had to do with the origin of fashion shows, and how they had been so grandly different from what people were used to see now, or how couture shops had hired models to wear their designs while the ladies drank their champagne while shopping over hundred years ago, or however that had gone. Admittedly, much as he was a model, he had kind of skipped the whole “history of fashion and modelling 101” class and just dove in head first, eventually leading to him currently standing outside the venue and checking his watch, ignorant to photographers of magazines of all kinds taking pictures of him, knowing what it looked like, the image of him not having yet entered the building and probably looking like that one kid that had been stood up for prom.   
Except this wasn’t prom, and he hadn’t been exactly stood up, but as the minutes kept ticking by and he had nothing better to do, he couldn’t help contemplate this situation once over again. It was already dark outside, night having long since fallen upon them, and he slowly started to feel like during a college party when the real thing only started at some ungodly time because college kids were like that. Unlike college kids, though, these after parties were not to destress after studying and exams or to celebrate some bigger event or maybe just to get laid,they were made for designers to bask in their glory and to endorse their brands, for the whole industry to socialize, and all that without getting drunk for real because that would be malapropos. In short, it was the uptight and exhausting version of a college party, and definitely less fun.  
It wasn’t until the familiar car of his manager pulled up, not some luxurious sports car like the ones before but the person stepping out looked fitting for the situation regardless, prompting flashes to illuminate the scene for split seconds while the clicking sound of high heels on stone tiles got closer to him, until one pointy finger with painfully sharp nails dug into the soft spot of his cheek. “Much as I enjoy this luxurious setting, next time you better pick me up from the airport instead of sending some intern who didn’t even know my name,” was the scolding he received instead of a greeting. He didn’t complain, only grabbed that hand tormenting his cheek and pulled her along with him, into the corridor leading to the hall hoisting the party that was luckily a bit quieter.  
“I’m also glad to have you back, Yanmei,” he replied while rolling his eyes, and despite his sarcastic gesture, he was aware his words were dripping with affection towards his elder sister. Teasing each other came easily to them as siblings, yet he felt truly grateful for her to have taken off some days and gone out of her way to visit him, despite how she must have been busy with work and her fiance who was as easy to excite as a puppy but also as simple to disappoint. “Let’s go,” he added after some second, placing one hand below her shoulder to move her forth and towards the party that was taking place, the one he knew she enjoyed more than him anyways, even though she must be more exhausted than him after flying, unpacking and getting dressed, all on her own, but to some extent he could understand it. It was special to her, similarly to how it had been to him at first, because it was so way off her routine, not needing to attend them on a loose regular because it was unlike her profession, and all these people he had become acquaintances with were still strangers to her, altogether not unlike a kid getting fascinated with a plane while someone used to business errands wouldn’t even be fazed.  
Like a kid let loose, he allowed her to set the pace, decide where she wanted to go, introducing her to the people she wanted to, it was what made it fun, less dull to him, but still quite as exhausting to the point she left her alone during a conversation she seemed to have gotten comfortable with to instead settle at the bar, slouching in a chair and scrolling his phone void of messages. Or rather, it was filled with messages, but too many of them were boring, connections lacking the intimacy to motivate him to reply while tired and yet he kept mindlessly glancing at the previews, at least wanting to look like he was busy when, honestly, he wasn’t.   
That was, until a well manicured finger hovered above the screen to close the app and then lock his phone. “Is this how you spend your time usually?” His sister asked, that little juvenile sparkle in her eyes gone that usually told of all the wonders she was experiencing while accompanying him to such events during her visits, it was replaced by the same kind of somberness she had carried when he had told her about his moving to the mainland first, or when he had narrated the story of his getting cast to her, it was the look she had on herself when she was about to be the voice of reason to his already down to earth images of a future to come. “Mom was elated when she read about you dating. But no more info had been leaked for weeks now so is this why I am here with you?”  
There was an underlying meaning to her question, one that came like a riddle he hadn’t yet figured out but sooner or later she would reveal it to him anyways, so he skipped the overthinking her intentions to answer honestly, “I didn’t know you all were aware of my private life…” He frowned lightly, just for a second but, undoubtedly, being known and keeping his private life hidden weren’t exactly shaking hands on good terms. “I just… I don’t think it was right to lead her on and give her false hopes so I called it off.” He was still in contact with Xia, yes, but admitting to not wanting to pursue a serious relationship - be it her or anyone - had apparently caused some sort of rift between them, one he hadn’t yet decided whether to bridge or not.  
Silence followed his words for a while during which his sister just watched the crowd between them, barkeeper moving to the other end of the counter and finally she continued, “Dad says the opposite. You know he’s no fan of your choices and seeing how you seem so active with that baker of yours, he keeps insisting that this whole industry made you a gay and you better go to some psychiatrist to get yourself cured.” When her serious eyes met his this time around, he couldn’t help tensing up a bit, their roles exchanged and this time he was the young child, not to get excited though, but rather feeling like ahead of an impending scolding. “But are you?”

Was he? It was a question that still kept his mind occupied weeks later as he sat in the bakery, out at one of the few tables this time around, near the window front despite how he might be spotted because anyone going out with this kind of storm raging on must truly be out of their mind to begin with. His father had always had some rather stuck up views, resulting to them to clash during his younger years and now it had resulted in them not having any contact any longer, because the more rules had been forced upon him, the more he had felt the cravings to break them, and he hadn’t possessed his sister’s diplomatic tendencies back then, nor did he now to the same extent she had them, this perfect mixture of straightforwardness, negotiating skill and assertiveness. A complete one-eighty to his just doing things the way he wanted to.   
So why was it that this time he had felt like getting punched straight in the face by the accusation of his father reported to him, it had hit a mark he hadn’t been aware he had held and the fact that his sister hadn’t brought it up again after that first night meant she was either agreeing with their dad or she was allowing him to come to a conclusion of his own. Which might have been easier if he knew where she stood on the scale, because while his friends were easy - Zhangjing and Ziyi with their pining over each other, Zhengting who had some close friends being in a relationship, or even Xukun with his whole attitude of “just go with how the dice fall” - his family was a riddle to him in that matter, beginning with how he didn’t even know of their political views over being ignorant towards their choice of laundry detergent and all he knew was that so far his mother’s love and sister’s support had outruled their disagreeing with his choices, and even then he was certain they were only putting in some good words because so far he hadn’t failed them.  
Was that why it bothered him so much? Because he couldn’t put his hand on it? Or it just was true and the fact that this vague and yet so firm relationship between Zhengting and him had made him topple over several times throughout the last months was supporting a conclusion everyone else but him had seemed to come to. It made him wonder just how exactly everyone had been looking at them while he was only treating them like normal friends. How was the other party involved and currently standing in the bakery thinking about this?  
So the most logical thing to do in such a situation, evidently, was not to go and ask his partner in suspect but rather sending his best friend a message to inquire what the singer thought was his supposed relationship status. Sometimes it was easier to have a third party give their opinion, void of biased emotions, thoughts or inclinations, on the other hand, although he received a rather fast reply considering the soft buzzing of his phone, it wasn’t an answer he was allowed to glimpse at because nearly that same moment some weight dropped softly onto the chair opposite him, mug being put down with delicate fingers not yet entirely void of the stains that food coloring brought along wrapped around the ceramic. A magnet pulling his eyes up, for how he found himself looking at the shop owner in front all too easily, and maybe for the first time ever had he seen Zhengting outside the room in the back during opening times.  
Like a deja vu some gossip weekly was splayed out in front of him, not the main page but still in the front was a picture of him greeted by his sister during the event recently, which had him check the date just for security but, indeed, his host must have kept the edition hidden somewhere in a similar way as he had done with the magazine Linkai had had shown him. Expected and unexpected all at the same time, greetings were forgone in lieu of the question, “Is this your new girlfriend?”  
Not a deja vu but a memory, as he recalled what the younger had said while drunk, and it conjured a small smile upon his lips, enough to make his dimples show, as he put his chin on his palm and watched the other for some moments to raise tension only to break it down with his own inquiry, “Why? Would you be jealous if she were?” Was this flirting already? He wasn’t certain but he most definitely was aware of how he was teasing, shamelessly so, despite the unusual setting, however, it might be exactly for this new kind of setting he had become so daring. The baking room that seemed like a forge of sugary magic was a sanctuary indeed, but such safety zone also meant less inclination of leaving his own comfort zone, a routine that had set was finally broken with the slightest shift of localization and this time around while both of them were entirely and definitely sober.  
He didn’t receive a real answer but the way fingers clawed into the thin pages was enough of one to have him reach forth and ease the tension out of those usefully strong digits, making sure they were relaxed first of all. “She’s my sister. She came for a visit and coincidentally I had a party to attend that night so I took her along to socialize in my stead.” It were words spoken in all earnest, too much so maybe, because he found himself telling more than he would usually and yet it seemed to be enough of a reassurance if those fingers sprawled out beneath his now entwining with his set of were anything to go by.  
“Take her along for a visit next time,” the baker muttered, and even Yanjun didn’t need to be a genius to catch the implication behind such words that only ended up making him smile softly as he still kept his eyes on the younger, watched him turn his head to watch the streaming rain outside, soft lights and water pearling against the windows granting a unique kind of illumination to already pretty features. “And don’t stay sitting out here the next time around. It’s inconvenient for me.”

It was way past nightfall when he came back home that night, feeling dead beat and too exhausted to even want to move a digit. Not because the day itself had been so tiring, there had been no much activity, especially not with the rain still pattering against his windows despite the late hour, unrelenting like an angry mother-in-law or upset CEO, but his own mind seemed to have been at fault this time around, bombarding him with questions any single second he hadn’t spent in company, talking, mindlessly chattering around and yet with each and every word carrying some heavier meaning. It was the kind of fatigue he just wanted to wash off in the shower, music softly running in the back as he exchanged the natural sounds of water drops hitting surface against the superficial one within his bathroom, hair dripping wet as he could merely support himself against a wall and let the hot stream hit his tense shoulders.  
A massage didn’t sound all too bad now, had him consider booking one with how his tomorrow’s shooting had literally gone down the drain with the weather making the shooting location unusable and no studio being available on such short call. Some people might think there was a Plan B for everything within the fashion industry, but truth was - there wasn’t. There was no studio available all the time whenever the outside was no option, secondary locations weren’t always booked because it would mean too many expenses and organizing. Sometimes it just worked out, being lucky to find a location worthy of serving as replacement but half the time it wouldn’t, making indoor shootings so much easier and yet so much more boring. In this case it just would mean some rescheduling, most focus put on the model, photographer, and someone from design team, because make-up artists, stylists, assistants and interns were easy to be replaced or pushed around, had less inclinations to protest, making it just another sad but cruel truth of their business.   
One would think it would agitate him, that the supposed shooting wouldn’t take place, that it messed with his timetables, but when he wasn’t even in charge of those thanks to his manager, he could only feel relief towards one less day of work and more time to relax, stuck in his high school days and receiving unexpected days off he was more thankful for than anything. It meant lying in bed and oozing around, maybe get up to move to the bakery all over again as if he hadn’t spent more than half his day there already, but it seemed all the more tempting with the relaxing atmosphere created by thunderstorms and the prospect of a book that had not yet been released courtesy of his sister who had handed such piece to him as farewell gift, the English version, because he had gotten rusty, as she had teased him.  
So many good ideas and too much time spent beneath the scalding stream, his fingers already shriveled up to resemble raisins by the time he decided that indeed all of his fatigue had been washed off to be replaced with just some utter state of comfort and the cravings to go to bed. After his usual beauty and getting dressed into some briefs, phone put onto his bedside table in case his manager needed him but it was only then he remembered some unread messages waiting for him, not something that would faze him any other day but this wasn’t just any other day, it had been him to ask his best friend a question which he had been quick to forget about thanks to his pleasant company. Which had been playing out in such unexpected ways, not just the routined sitting in the bakery and watching Zhengting hush around, with a low of customers and orders having been taken care of already, the owner had easily settled with him at the front, supposedly also taken over the cashier later when young Minghao had left but it had been only in theory, with as little people as had moved out on such stormy days, it had only been a rough two or three times per hour they had needed to halt their conversation that had even lasted through some dinner in a nearby restaurant and after he had insisted to share a taxi, meaning it was indeed late, coming home, and even later, falling into bed.   
Guilt washed over him for a spare second, fastly washed away when he read the kind of replies he had received from his best friend. “Lol”. “Are you kidding me?” or “We all thought you were dating that baker before you suddenly went out on your dating spree”, as well as some “Greetings to your sister btw”. Not like he’d bother pointing out he wasn’t with his sister anymore, neither did he question just whom “we” referred to because he was quite certain he wouldn’t be delighted by the answer. It seemed like such painfully obvious reply from his best friend yet it did nothing to stop these questions from haunting his mind. Were they so much like a couple? Did they look the same to others as well? If even his father who knew so little of his current life thought like this, how about all the other people? Did they suspect him? Would they support him- them? What would it mean to Zhengting? What did he mean to Zhengting?  
“Special,” he had called them, such a vague word, an odd way to phrase it, that seemed all too fitting by the way he remembered how their fingers had felt slotting together, how easy it had been to let his hand rest on that bony knee during their shortly shared taxi drive, how natural it had seemed to propose for them to go out to dine again soon. How much would he affect Zhengting’s li-  
His thoughts were interrupted, another buzz of a message and while he felt unwilling to reply curiosity got the better of him, unlocking his phone to check his app only to be greeted with his victim of thoughts to be in the first line, uppermost message, just some seconds ago. It seemed harmless, and yet so awfully intimate, to even just read the first few words introducing the message. “Being unable to sleep…”  
“...is faulted to being awake in someone else’s dream,” he muttered to himself, grinning like a dumb idiot and yet it felt so small on his lips as he read over the lines, the hidden meanings behind it, only to point out how they were both still awake. Maybe there were some several dozen questions tormenting his mind, all involving the same person he was exchanging messages with, wonders regarding both their statuses once they reached a conclusion that might not be as vague as their relationship, but maybe all that seemed irrelevant when just looking at some simple messages was enough to make him smile.  
Actually, was it important whether they dated or not? Held hands, kissed, just remained as friends and treasured platonic love, … He was not certain what he wanted or desired, what he wanted Zhengting to want from him, but one thing for sure, be it was friends, lovers, married people, just remaining on good terms and having the younger in his life, he considered, was more than enough to satisfy him. They were young, they had years to come, they had no expiry date written on their hearts and if time come, if he finds someone he loves on first sight, he could only hope there would be understanding, mutually so because he might also not be the first one to experience it. But until then, he just wanted to be able to smile earnestly while reading over messages sounding dumb thanks to a mutual state of tired idiocy and yet so endearing it made his mood remain high despite the late time.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, congrats! Because I am aware my writing style is a mess considering this was one of the works that took me longest to complete, there were shifts in my mood and phrasings and I guess they do show? It'd be interesting to know if they do, actually, lol.
> 
> Thank you for reading this, regardless of my mistakes, faults, and dragging this on for so long!   
> Comments are appreciated but for shy potatoes I got some [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/dadting) as well! My [twitter](https://twitter.com/zhengjunist) is asleep though.


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